


Your god will be my god

by misereremolly



Series: Wherever you go, I will go [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets/Hugh Culber sort of, M/M, Needy Paul, Oral Sex, Paul is pushy, Sex, being multidimensional maybe has some perks, but it's also scary, caring hugh, sex and angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:20:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misereremolly/pseuds/misereremolly
Summary: Paul is hiding the worsening side effects of his genetic self-manipulation from Hugh, but Hugh is the only person who grounds him. Visions and sensations from a parallel universe accost Paul while having sex.Takes place after 1x08 “Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum”Part of the “Wherever you go I will go” fic, following Chapter 2: Wherever you stay, I will stay. The rating goes up significantly in this section, so I made it into a separate file. Read the tags and heed the rating, thar be porn ahead!





	Your god will be my god

The closet door is open, and sunshine is pouring through. 

What is laying across his forearms? A uniform, his uniform -- scrunched in a pile and scratching his skin, warm and lightly wrinkled from a day of use. 

No. Blue blankets and towels, dusted with abrading hot sand that drips down and scalds the vulnerable flesh between his toes.

There’s blue, so much blue; blue fabric, a starship’s familiar cold light, an unfamiliar ocean laps onto an unfamiliar deserted beach. The sunlight is staggeringly bright, the sun is so hot -– its heat prickles his bare shoulders, shouldn’t he be wearing sunscreen? 

But why should he be wearing sunscreen when the air in his lungs is recycled and cool?

Everything in his arms, whatever it all is, slides down to the floor and he digs the heels of his palms into his eyelids, as if the pressure would somehow reconcile his surroundings, press out what was false and when he opened his eyes again he would only see what was true.

But even closed his eyes still see, and his body still senses –- his quarters, on the _Discovery_ , and this beach, what is it, where is it? 

Warm sun falls on his back; warm hands smooth across his naked skin.

He shivers.

Reluctant eyes open and it takes everything he has not to recoil when he is nearly blinded by dazzling white. 

White sand? White uniform?

 _Stop it. Focus._

“Hugh.”

The mirage in his mind taunts him, he sees Hugh surrounded by a couch and their bed and rugged cliffs, they’re standing together under the burning sun and breathing in the same ionic stale air. 

Hugh is here. 

Though he still can’t tell where _here_ is. 

Wherever it is, there is one constant.

Paul throws himself into Hugh’s arms as an astronaut grasps for a lost tether, desperate to clutch that last chance for life.

“Whoa…Paul?”

It’s a fierce, grounding embrace, and he’s moaning with relief when Hugh traps him safely in the cage of his arms, tethering his body to something solid. Surely his mind would follow, like a wayward homing bird? 

It’s still not enough.

He crushes their mouths together. Generous lips part under his desperate, insistent pressure and he feels Hugh fall into it, deepening their kiss in response. Sensations tease him into arousal; stiff fabric scratches his sensitive nipples, Hugh’s waistband digs into the soft skin of his belly, warm hands stroke down his flanks and settle onto his waist.

The sun is still so bright. 

He plucks at the sleeves of Hugh’s uniform. “Aren’t you hot?”

A sharp laugh. “Was that supposed to be a pickup line?” Fingertips squeeze and pinch the skin at his hips into little folds. “It’s a good thing you’re pretty, because that was really terrible.”

Sunlight vanishes. In the blink of a dazed eye he’s freed from the pressure of its heat.

 _Discovery. We’re on the Discovery._

Paul hides his face in Hugh’s shoulder, presses into that wonderful and familiar body so hard that the metal insignia on Hugh’s chest digs into him deeply enough to leave a mark, a mirrored brand on his skin, and he welcomes the dull pain of it for fear that if he lets go, Hugh might walk away. 

Might leave him.

“Bad day?”

Unable to trust his own voice, he just nods. 

“What can I do? What do you need?” 

Honesty is too dangerous, and his muddled mind isn’t ready to navigate a minefield of words -- he’s barely ready for coherent thought. 

There’s nothing to do but go in for another kiss, his hips rolling instinctively against Hugh’s. Within the span of a breath Hugh’s hands are grabbing at his ass, holding him tightly in place and grinding their hips together. His body succumbs easily to another kind of pressure and heat. Gasping against the softness of Hugh’s mouth, he signals a stop to the urgent motion of their hips with a press of his palms to strong shoulders; the drag of Hugh’s clothed arousal is too much against his bare erection. 

Beloved hands immediately gentle their grip on his ass, fingers caress over plump reddening skin and then brush lower, questioningly. Spurred by the instinctive trust and desire that flow so naturally through him when he’s with Hugh, he spreads his legs a bit wider so those fingers can stroke more intimately.

His mind is distracted from flight, from visions, from sunlight by the steady, familiar sensuality of Hugh’s touch and his own body’s familiar language of desire and response. He feels Hugh’s weight shift and he’s being guided to their bed, spread out atop the smooth sheets and he arches into their coolness wantonly, as if to banish the lingering sensations of phantom sunburn from his shoulders.

For a moment Hugh vanishes from his sight. It’s only a moment, really, just that -- but the loss of his constant, steady Hugh almost feels like a strike to his solar plexus, he’s nearly gasping from it as he starts to sit up but soothing hands are back on him at once and Hugh is there, murmuring promises of sensual comfort –- “I’ve got you, love.”

Now Hugh is wondrously, beautifully naked and leaning over him, and Paul’s hands come up to greedily smooth a circuit over the finely sculpted and curving muscle of Hugh’s chest, thumbing at dark, hardening nipples and finally stopping to grip at firm biceps while Hugh’s gentle fingers, slickened with lubricant, ease inside Paul’s body, stretching him, opening him up.

Within moments Hugh has him writhing and panting, pleading little sounds are dropping from his lips, there’s no more time, he needs this _right now_ , and fortunately his dear, perceptive doctor reads his insistence and _finally_ the fingers withdraw, replaced at once with the blunt tip of a cock pressing into him. He’s tight, he knows it, he can feel it, and Hugh is gasping from it, easing in slowly, but he doesn’t want to wait; he wraps his legs around Hugh’s waist, taking him in deeper and urging him to just _move_ already. 

And he does. It’s urgent and breathless, the ever-present desire between them uncoiling into this deepest, most intimate connection of their bodies to consummate his groundedness. His head falls back and he tilts his hips in, Hugh hits _that_ spot inside him just right, the drag of that dick against his insides is _exquisite_ \--

Sunshine floods his vision. 

Gasping with shock, he surges up for a kiss, hands desperately reaching to cup Hugh’s face. Startled, Hugh shifts their position, his cock slipping out of Paul’s body. The light is back, the heat is back, and he closes his eyes against all of it, willing it away, panting into Hugh’s mouth until it fades back again. 

Only a half a second has passed, but he’s turning before Hugh can speak, rising up onto his knees and spreading them wide as he flattens his palms against the wall above the headboard. He presses his head into the cool, solid bulkhead, unwilling to look heavenward again. Hugh is behind him, pushing inside of him, and he pushes back, rapidly returning them to pace and soaking in the sensations of _here_ and _now_ , of Hugh’s arm wrapping around his waist, the sound of skin slapping against skin, of a roaring ocean…

Shaking his head fails to dislodge the sound, the heat of the sun is back and he can’t escape it, can’t bear it; cliffs and a beach overlay his sight, burning sand abrades his knees. A shadow falls across his face and he looks up, astonished to see Hugh standing over him, gloriously naked and aroused, leaning back against a rocky cliff, his body gleaming in the sun. He’s magnificent, as a god worthy of worship, and so worship Paul does, accepting the tip of that swollen, leaking cock into his gaping mouth.

Hugh’s hands are in his hair, urging him on; his arms are wrapped around his waist, urging him back; the sand is hot and the air cool which is absolutely impossible, but it doesn’t matter because Hugh is here, wherever _here_ is, fucking into his mouth and into his ass and it also doesn’t matter that _that_ is impossible too, because wherever he is, Hugh has him, and it’s with that thought that he collapses into climax, shaking and crying out with a release that wrings out his body and mind –- his mind spiraling into comforting, neutral, perfect darkness.

It’s a brief darkness, but enough to return him to himself, and soon Hugh is panting through his release too. Paul groans at the feel of Hugh coming deeply inside of him, of Hugh’s arm squeezing tightly around his waist, of Hugh’s fingers stuffed wetly inside of his mouth. 

Panting, they untangle and flop down onto the bed, side by side. 

_Discovery. We’re on the Discovery._

Hugh sighs and chuckles softly. “Okay then.” He sounds a little astounded. “That was a surprising welcome home. Was that what you needed?”

Paul curls into Hugh’s warmth. He feels like he’s been reset, and he fervently hopes that’s the case. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he responds shakily.

They just lie there quietly for several minutes, heartbeats slowing down to normal. 

Paul breathes in cool ionic air, stares up at the cool blue starship lighting, grips smooth standard-issue sheets in his hand. 

No more heat, no more sand.

“Do I ever need a shower,” Hugh announces, hand patting Paul’s thigh. “Come on.” 

“Just a minute.” 

The shower starts to run. No more ocean sounds.

Breathing in and out slowly, his mind predictably picks up and cycles through the myriad tangle of his anxieties once again. What he needed was for Hugh to be safe. But it felt like that was slipping away from him. He was racking up more time inside the spore drive, but they were no closer to winning the war. These strange _moments_ were becoming more frequent, but telling Hugh would only send his dear doctor down a path of heartbreak. 

“Hey? You coming?”

Paul gets to his feet. No more sunlight.

_For now, I just need to know that you have me, wherever I am._


End file.
